


Force of Nature

by left_to_write



Series: Paradise is Forever [3]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a year since Hurricane 'Irma' blew Richard further into Camille's orbit, and this time each is secretly hoping that Irma's 'successor' might give them another chance at love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a year after Episode 7 of Series 2, but again there is no Series 3 in this AU.
> 
> I had so enjoyed writing the piece where I imagined different potential romantic endings for several of the TV Episodes, that I wondered if I could take some of the most obvious ones (from the canon) and imagine the storyline(s) one year on now, instead.

 

Richard and Camille peeked outside the door of the Honore Police Station and watched the trees beginning to sway wildly in the wind. The hurricane season was upon them again and, remembering how they had got marooned together at the University weather station the previous year, it seemed that a pre-emptive strike was in order this time.

"Here we go again, Richard, our first storm of the year. I really do think it would be a good idea to make sure you stay indoors this year, preferably inside a more robust building than the beach house," Camille told her boss, partly in all seriousness, partly with a gleam in her eye.

She could well recall the night they had spent together during Hurricane 'Irma' (although it had mainly missed Saint Marie after all) and, although she had enjoyed their closeness, it remained unfulfilled even a whole year later, and she wondered if there was a way that it could be recreated or rekindled without the risk of actual bodily harm from low flying objects.

Richard shook his head. _For goodness' sake, she's incorrigible._

"Camille, I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is really no need to get all panic stricken about the prospect of a bit of wind and rain. We get that in England all the time," he said rather arrogantly.

"Not like we get in the Caribbean, Richard."

"As I recall, last year everyone made a great big fuss about, what was it - Hurricane 'Irma'? - and it was fine in the end. Just some wind and rain!" he stubbornly insisted.

"Last year, Hurricane 'Irma' didn't hit Saint Marie. It veered off 40 miles to the north west of the island, just like that poor murdered young meteorologist, Leo Downs, had predicted. Why are you being so stubborn?!" Camille was getting very frustrated with this foolish Englishman.

"Well, whatever. Who says that Hurricane 'Ivor' won't do the same? Honestly, we British are made of much sterner stuff than you lot."

"Ooh, you're impossible!! You are the most stubborn, pig-headed, annoying, bloody-minded.... argh!" she fumed. "Go ahead, end up in your tree - if you're lucky. You might actually end up under the house! Or in the sea, or - "

"Merciful heaven, Detective! When are you going to stop all this haranguing?! Fine, if it makes you feel better, I'll spend the night with _you_ at _your_ place!"

The words were out of his mouth before Richard could stop himself, and then it was rather difficult to take them back. So, he simply turned varying degrees of fuchsia and stuttered a lot, and consequently missed Camille's triumphant little smile. Well, it was actually what she had offered last year when 'Irma' was showing signs of arriving, and it had been an innocent enough offer. Back then.

 _It's about time - better get those scented candles out,_ she thought to herself.

Rather belatedly attempting some damage limitation control, Richard said, "I beg your pardon... I... uh... didn't mean that to sound the way it... uh... came out..."

"It's alright, Richard, your virtue is safe with me. You can sleep on the sofa. But joking apart, it is a good idea to stay somewhere else other than the beach shack. It really is too flimsy to withstand a Force 4 hurricane," Camille replied.

He sighed, "Okay, you may be right. I suppose the beach house wasn't exactly built with strong foundations," he conceded at last. Although why they would build a glorified hut on a beach in a hurricane zone and expect it to be someone's actual home (if it really was that dangerous during hurricane season), he couldn't fathom.

 

"Chief, we'd better batten down the hatches and then head home as quickly as possible, if you don't mind. I reckon there's only about half an hour or so before it becomes too dangerous to go out, and we'll get stuck here," said Dwayne, who had been keeping a close eye on the sky for most of the afternoon.

(Mercifully for Richard, the lads had been out when he and Camille had had that - er - exchange of views).

"Yes, Sir, and I'll stay here again and man the phones in case anyone rings in an emergency," volunteered Fidel.

"That's very good of you to offer, Fidel, but if it's going to be anything like as bad as Dwayne and everyone else here has been saying, I don't imagine anyone will even be able to get through. Won't the phone lines go down again like last year? They'll just have to ride out the storm," said Richard.

"Actually, since it's supposedly going to be so perilously awful, maybe  _I_ should stay here. Fidel, won't Juliet and Rosie need you at home with them?" The thought just occurred to him.

Camille had to stifle a protest at the prospect of her best laid plans about to blow away with Hurricane 'Ivor'. Fortunately for her, 'Sir Galahad' Myers rode in to the rescue and offered to do Fidel's shift instead.

"No, it's alright, you go on home, Fidel, I'll stay here. There's someone I'm trying to give a wide berth to anyway, so I'll probably be safer here, actually."

"Who's that?" asked a curious Fidel.

"Yvonne - you remember, from one of the stalls in the market - "

"Yes, fascinating though Dwayne's complicated love life is, could we please just get back to the point, officers? I thought that time was supposed to be of the essence here," grumbled Richard. 

Camille took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.

 _Oh lovely, what a barrel of fun he's going to be tonight._ _He might as well be staying here after all._

 

Finally, after much propping up of the heaviest items of furniture against windows and doors, and collecting of bottled water, the team braved the elements and left Dwayne in charge of the station. They posted a couple of emergency (mobile) contact numbers on the inside of the window for anyone who might have been unfortunate - or daft - enough to be out and about and find themselves in need of urgent assistance.

Dashing through the increasingly heavy rain and the swirling winds, Camille and Richard reached her apartment and dashed up the stairs with more relief than Richard cared to admit.

"I'll put the kettle on while there's still some power," said Camille. "Tea? Or would you rather have a beer?"

"Oh, um... tea will be fine, thanks," Richard replied rather haltingly. While Camille disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on and fetch the candles, he peered around her living/dining room with interest. Surprisingly, he had never got past her front door before; not because she hadn't wanted him to, but because he never felt it quite proper to enter an attractive lady's premises alone, unless she were either a relative or already a girlfriend.

He liked her décor more than he would have expected to, and he was a little intrigued by some of the photos and cards on a small table in one corner of the room. He suddenly became aware of a sense of intimacy and warmth in the cosy little room; he was surprised at the gentleness of it, given Camille's feisty nature.

Bringing the drinks and the candles in, she proceeded to light one of them in readiness for the blackout she was sure would follow.

"That way, there's at least some light by which to carry on lighting the others when the time comes, but we're not wasting too much by lighting them all beforehand," she explained.

"You seem very sure there will be a blackout, Camille."

"Well, there usually is, Richard. Even last year when Saint Marie managed to escape the brunt of Hurricane 'Irma', we still had that power cut, remember?"

_Remember?? Of course I bloody remember! How could I forget? You practically tortured me half the night. No, that's not fair, it wasn't your fault - it was me. As usual._

"Yes, of course," he said out loud. "Well... uh... better to be prepared, as you say... eh, Camille, ha." He was beginning to get nervous and flustered as it dawned on him what an even more intimate experience this night could turn out to be.

All of a sudden, there was a mighty clap of thunder and the lights flickered and went out. Luckily, Camille had already just lit the first candle, and Richard gave her a hand with the others for the sake of speed.

"I can smell something," he said, sniffing the air.

"It's the candles, Richard," answered Camille. "They're lightly scented." Seeing the expression on his face, she said somewhat defensively, "Well, that's all I could find in the shops by the time I got there. Sir."

Richard detected the edge in her voice and said, "Okay, Camille, that wasn't meant to be a criticism. I just wondered, that's all."

She sighed heavily, annoyed with herself for her little outburst. "Sorry."

He looked her in the eye as he replied, "Forget it. So, what shall we do now?" The corners of his mouth began to turn up ever so slightly. "I see you don't have a giant whiteboard in here."

"No, I usually prefer to leave work behind when I get home," she retorted, a touch sardonically. "And besides," she added with a grin, "do you see anywhere to fit one in here?"

"Does that mean we don't get to talk about our cases, then?" he asked, in an unexpectedly playful tone of voice.

"That's right. Tonight I get to pry some more into your personal life. And you never finished telling me what it would be like to spend an entire weekend confined in a caravan together."

_Oh great..._

Her voice was beginning to take on that alluring  - and frankly, downright sexy -  tone that he found so unnerving, and he wondered if this was going to be a long night.

Something deep within him secretly hoped so.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"I suppose you could call this a bit like caravanning, except that it's more comfortable," mused Richard.

"Really?" Camille raised her eyebrows and looked at him with some degree of incredulity.

"Well, I mean, it's indoors and yet there is a sense of the rawness of nature outside; rain lashing and wind blowing and all that."

"A little romantic, perhaps?" she teased gently.

Still in vaguely contemplative mood, he answered, "Yes, I guess you could call it that..." and then caught himself about to be a bit more revealing than he intended.

_What is she up to?_

Changing the subject, he then asked, "How long do these hurricanes usually last? When they're for real, that is."

"Well, they can last several days, actually, but it depends on both the strength of the hurricane and whether Saint Marie is in the eye of the storm." Then, deciding to tease him a little more, she added mischievously, "Of course, this one looks like it may be pretty bad; we could be stranded here for two or three days if it turns out to be a particularly severe storm."

At the mention of ' _several'_ and _'two to three'_  days', Richard blanched, an expression of panic writ large across his face.

_How am I supposed to survive Camille for the next three days?! She'll prise out every secret I've ever had in my life...._

"Are you alright, Richard? You're looking a little pale. Don't worry about the storm, I'm sure it won't be quite _that_ bad," she said, reassuringly. Well, it wouldn't do to have him terrified out of his wits.

Richard relaxed visibly (a bit). "I... I was just thinking about poor Harry... wondering if he'll be alright," he answered.

Camille smiled kindly. "I'm sure he will, you know. He's a wild creature, after all. I expect he's done a fair bit of having to fend for himself in his life."

Camille wasn't entirely sure whether Richard had just invented his expression of concern for Harry as a cover for his apparent discomfort, or whether he was genuinely worried about the little creature. She remembered his tender care of the fellow the day he solved the Angelique Morel/Delilah Dunham case, trying to find a cat food that a lizard might like.

_What an extraordinary combination of pedantic, uptight reserve, and soft-hearted kindness below the surface._

"I hope you're right. I wouldn't like to think of him all by... oh... never mind... um... you wouldn't happen to have a bar of chocolate, would you? I'd replace it later, of course," said Richard, changing the subject.

_Ah, good thing I stocked up on his favourite treats. We certainly won't starve, even if we can't cook anything._

Camille smiled again. "Well, I believe I have, you know. And crisps as well, if you'd like something more savoury..."

Richard's eyes narrowed with suspicion. _This sounds an awful lot like last year at the weather station. Did she plan for this, I wonder? Hmm...._

There was just a part of him that began to believe it might actually be quite fun to 'camp out' in her cosy little flat, but his more repressed nature came to the fore again and he decided that the proper reaction was to treat the hurricane situation like a challenge to be met, an obstacle to be overcome with true British stiff upper lip.

"Um... Richard... I have something to show you... " she put on her best tantalising voice.

"Ye-es?" He was on his guard now.

"Well, quite by chance, when I was looking at some shopping stuff online, I came across a supplier that sells some nice things that can be ordered from a shop right here in the Caribbean; on the British Virgin Islands in fact," she began.

"Oh ye-es...?"

"So, I ordered a few little things, and I thought you might enjoy one or two of them," she explained in her most velvety sweet voice. "Want to see?"

Richard gulped. _Oh my God, I don't think I can cope with this...._

"Camille, I don't think - "

"Relax, it's nothing to worry about, I promise. In fact, I can guarantee that you will like what you see," she said, with cheerful reassurance. "I'll be right back."

Moving quickly in case he made a bolt for the door, Camille hurried back into her kitchen and emerged with a little box.

"For you," she said, handing it to Richard.

He looked puzzled. "Oh! What is it?" he inquired.

"Open it and see."

Opening the box, he pulled out a tin, and guffawed with pleasure. "Jelly babies! How did you know?! Thank you, Camille!"

_At last, I've pleased him!_ She laughed inwardly at the truism of the old cliché about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach.

For Richard's part, all fears about her trying to seduce him with some kind of naughty unmentionable(s) now left him, and he was like a little boy let loose in a sweet shop, the archetypal kid in a candy store. Grinning broadly at her, he suddenly felt guilty at his previous boorish behaviour, and grateful for her thoughtfulness and generosity.

Of course, in the nicest possible way, his guard was now down.

 

"Oh, don't have too many, Richard," Camille laughed. "You don't want to make yourself sick. Save some for another day, okay?"

Richard now looked like the little boy who's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Oops, I got a bit carried away there," he said with a boyish smile.

"Let me see if I can get one of those gas burners lit and you can have another cup of tea," Camille suggested.

"Ooh, yes please," responded Richard appreciatively. "Do you want a hand in the kitchen?" Camille hardly needed help making a cup of tea, but it seemed to him a polite thing to say.

She chuckled. "No, I'm fine, thanks. Actually, how about an Irish coffee or something like that, for a change? Or a glass of wine?" she offered by way of alternative to tea.

"We-ell... " he hesitated.

"Go on; I'll have one if you will," she purred.

"Oh alright, then, thanks. Don't go to the bother of trying to light one of those gas burner things, a glass of wine will do just fine." Richard was beginning to feel quite mellow, and they hadn't even got to the alcohol yet.

Camille usually saw Richard drink tea or beer, and vaguely wondered what his tolerance for wine, whiskey or rum might be. After all, it was one thing to be loosened up, but quite another to be incapacitated. She knew which one she wanted him to be.

Sipping their glasses of wine, Richard gazed around the room where the candlelight cast shadows on the walls, and halos appeared on the ceiling; the ambience felt almost medieval romantic.

"More crisps?" she asked him. Yes, it was junk food, but there weren't many alternatives in the circumstances, and crisps would help soak up the wine. She wanted him sober enough to be coherent, and sweetly amorous, not overly tipsy.

Fortunately for her, he was feeling quite genial and she was sure it wouldn't take too much to open him up a bit.

"Richard?" A good start....

"Hmm..." Also good.

"Would you really have taken me to Clacton or whatever it was, for a weekend in a caravan? I mean, if you had gone back to England and I had come to visit you...?"

"Mm... I don't see why not," he replied languidly.

"What's it like there?"

"Clacton? Well, it's a seaside resort in the south east of England, though not like the Caribbean, of course. There are beaches and piers and shops full of souvenirs and sticks of candied rock. English seaside towns can get quite tacky, to be honest, but I guess I like the thought of it because it holds happy memories for me." A momentary cloud of sadness appeared across his face, and then was gone in another instant.

Despite the dim light, Camille had noticed his change in facial demeanour, and felt a sudden twinge of guilt. What did she think she was doing, trying to trick this emotionally vulnerable and fundamentally good man into letting her take advantage of him?

"Why do you ask?"

She looked down. "I suppose because I'm interested in what makes you tick, Richard. Apart from puzzles and mysteries and that sort of thing. You know, who you are outside of being a policeman."

He looked at her closely, trying to figure out if there was a subtext here. "Oh, I see. Um... I'm not sure even _I_ know the answer to that, Camille," he said truthfully.

"I think _I_ do," she replied softly. "I think you're a good, kind, extremely intelligent man who hasn't been loved or appreciated enough in his life."

Richard's eyebrows shot up and he looked at her with astonishment. "What on earth made you say that, Camille?"

She shrugged. "It's true. And because... I... care about you."

_Is it my imagination, or are his eyes misting up slightly?_

To her surprise, he edged closer to her on the sofa where they had sat down with their wine, and he let her put her head on his shoulder.

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"I have a confession to make...."

"Oh?" Richards' curiosity was piqued.

"Yes... I... um... wanted you to come back here with me tonight, so I sort of... lured you..." Camille winced a bit, waiting for the possible explosion of disapproval.

Instead, he simply smiled and said, "I know."

She looked up at him, bewildered. "You do?"

"Of course. You don't think I'd have come here if I hadn't really wanted to, do you?"

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Camille was a bit confused. Richard had made such a song and dance about _not_ wanting to leave his shack, about wanting to be left alone and not pestered, but here he was admitting that he'd wanted to be with her at her place all along? What was going on? Had she met her match in him? In other words, was he an even bigger game player than she was?

"Does that surprise you?" he asked her, as if reading her mind.

"Um, yeah," she asserted. "I mean, you acted like you really didn't want to, Richard. Apart from my... um... caring about you and... um... liking to be in your company (well, most of the time), I was genuinely concerned for your safety. That beach house is not sturdy enough to withstand a fierce storm."

Richard took a deep breath. Maybe now was the time for honesty with this special woman.

"I appreciate that, Camille... Look, it's not that I don't want to... um... be in your company... but sometimes when we're... together... well, not together-together... " He blushed at this; it was not going to be all that easy for him, in spite of his sincere wish to be emotionally honest, for once.

"What I mean is... although I like spending time with you, I sometimes feel... er... out of my... um... depth. Like you're the one with the quick wit and the wisecracks and the... um... flirting, and I don't know... how I'm supposed to... you know... react.

"I mean... I often wonder if you're just trying to wind me up... or... well, change me... because, if so... well, this is the way I am... for better or for worse, Camille." Phew, he had finally got that out.

Camille was nonplussed. She had never heard Richard be quite this open or serious about himself - about himself with _her_ \- not even the previous year when Aimee had died, nor during the night of Hurricane 'Irma'. This was taking things to a whole new level between them, and it gave her hope.

"I'm sorry, Richard. I didn't mean to make you that uncomfortable. Sometimes I did - do - say things to try and provoke a reaction, but not because I want to upset you or make you feel bad. But... because... I want to see your... um... reaction... to _me_. To give me a clue about where I... stand... with you... with us... if there _is_ any 'us'." she confessed.

It was clearly a time for honest talking for both of them - for two people who had unwittingly fallen in love with one another and didn't even know how to admit it to themselves, let alone declare it to each other. Camille hid behind her teasing and flirtatious behaviour, while Richard hid behind his English reserve.

Unfortunately, they had each constructed and worn their protective masks for so long that even _they_ didn't always know where pretence left off and reality began.

"Would you like there to be an 'us', Camille?"

"Yes," she replied, almost in a whisper.

Reaching towards her to tenderly brush a lock of hair off her face, Richard whispered, "So would I."

"Oh, Richard," she cried softly, "I was beginning to think you'd never want me," she confessed. "Or at any rate, that I was invisible to you... in that way."

"One thing you are definitely not, Camille, is invisible. I can guarantee you that."

She smiled wanly. "Thank you... but you never..." she left the rest unsaid.

"Well, we were - are - working together, and I'm your boss, not that that is always obvious," he joked and got a playful pat on the arm. "In the Met there were always strict rules about that sort of thing, and not just because some bureaucrat thought it was improper or whatever... but to protect the so-called subordinate colleague from abuse or harassment. You know, the 'boss' couldn't claim that they were in a consensual relationship or whatever.

"It wasn't my job or my place to regard you in that manner, Camille. And I guess I was in pretty severe culture shock for the first year or two, as well. That was distraction enough."

"So... what happens now, Richard?" Camille needed to know where _she_ stood, too.

"Come here. We need a cuddle. At least, _I_ do." He put his arm around her and brushed his lips across the top of her brow.

"I don't know what the rules are here, Camille, but before we go any further, I think we both need to know where we are with one another." He took a deep breath.

"I know it may sound hopelessly old-fashioned, but I don't do 'casual'," he continued. She opened her mouth to protest a little, but he carried on. "I'm not saying that _you_ do either, or that that's what you would be looking for but... well... the point is... I'm not the kind of person who can just throw himself in the deep end and afterwards hope he might be able to swim.

"Because, quite frankly, if I threw myself into a relationship and it didn't work out, I would take it quite hard..."

"I once asked you if you'd ever been in love and you started to answer, but then changed the subject. I know it was because back then it was none of my business, but... can I ask you again now?" Camille ventured.

Richard closed his eyes as he remembered a painful episode in his past. "Yes, but it ended badly. For me. It never happened again until... now. And I'd rather not re-experience that level of hurt again, Camille. I feel too old to be resilient."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I would never want to hurt you, Richard. I love you." There were tears in her eyes which glistened in the light of the candles' flames.

"I don't find that an easy phrase, Camille. I've taught myself not to say it because for me, love has been associated with pain. But I do... love you... Camille."

The relief of their mutual declaration seemed to lighten the mood somewhat.

"You know, when you were starting to tell me about those things you'd bought from an online shop, I thought you were talking about..." Richard blushed again. He now wished he hadn't opened that particularly topic of conversation.

Camille threw him a wicked little smile. "I know, sorry. I did that deliberately," she admitted.

"Obviously."

"Well, I wanted to see how you'd react when you saw the Jelly Babies, and I thought it would be even more of a surprise if you had been under the impression that I was about to show you something else entirely..."

Richard sighed. "Camille, you are incorrigible! What if you'd given me a heart attack??"

"Oh for goodness sake, Richard, you're not a 99 year old with a weak constitution, are you?? I could tell even two years ago that you're a red-blooded male. Of course... I'd like to see _how_ red-blooded sometime..."

"Camille!"

"Well, isn't that what people in relationships do?"

"Alright, just give me some..." he sighed. He was too out of practice to be instantly comfortable with this sort of thing.

"Space?... Time?..." Camille wasn't sure what the best way was to handle his lack of confidence. She wondered whether she should flirt a bit more, this time in the knowledge that it was based on love and desire, not on superficial attraction or provocation.

He smiled at her. "Can we just snuggle up for a bit first?"

"Sure. You know, I was afraid you might literally run out of my flat when you thought I was going to show you something provocative. I'm so glad you didn't, and not just because the hurricane might have got you. Thanks for being brave enough to stay."

"We-ell... maybe I subconsciously did want to see what you'd got," he said, his playful side gradually beginning to return.

Camille giggled. "Oh Richard! I love it that you can admit that! And I love you!" She threw her arms around him and pressed her lips against his. His arms instinctively wrapped around her in a lover's embrace and he found himself kissing a woman properly for the first time in years.

He chuckled. "So, no rubber underwear after all? Or lingerie with holes in all the 'right' places? Or special... er....'toys'?"

"Richard Poole!! You shock me!" exclaimed Camille. "Where on earth...?"

"I'm not saying I have personal experience of these things, Camille, but it doesn't mean I don't know what they are. I am a policeman after all, and we see all sorts of things, as you should know, Detective," he replied archly.

"Are you assuming _I_ have personal experience of them?" she countered.

"Nope; I learned never to make any assumptions where women are concerned. You're all still a complete mystery to me."

"Right then, lesson number one: not every woman wants to seduce a man using 'special effects', so to speak; lesson number two: I certainly hope _you_ aren't going to feel the need for them because I don't think I'm quite into that sort of thing. And lesson number three: it's not only the man who can get frustrated..."

"Crikey Camille, I think I'm getting the message. Would you like to jump on me now or in five minutes' time?" he asked in mock exasperation.

"Now!" came the playful, but firm, reply.

Richard shook his head and folded his arms. Camille stared at him and frowned. "But I thought..."

"Not if I get you first!" he said and suddenly made a playful lunge at her. Squealing with surprise and delight, Camille started running round her small apartment with Richard chasing after her. Normally, of course, she could almost certainly have outrun him, but they were in a very confined space and he'd had the element of surprise, and a head start.

Catching her easily, he held her tightly and began kissing her more passionately than he thought he'd ever kissed any woman before. Rolling onto the floor, he pleaded for her to take him to her bed where he reckoned a mattress at his time of life and in his state of physical fitness would be more conducive to enthusiastic lovemaking.

 

Basking in the afterglow some while later, he wondered if he'd died and gone to heaven or whether he was still just in the Caribbean version of paradise.

"Did you put something in those candles, Camille?" he joked.

"No, only in your wine," she joked in return.

"What?! Seriously??"

"No, of course not, silly! It was all _you,_ Richard. Your subconscious will, your conscious mind and your... ahem... physical presence," she laughed.

"Oh Camille, who would have thought a man such as me could ever be so happy, so satisfied? You _will_ stay with me, won't you?" he asked, a trace of insecurity bubbling to the surface.

"Of course I will, Richard - for better, for worse, like you said earlier. And after all, who else is going to protect you from all those hurricanes?"

"You know, Camille, it's occurred to me that the real force of nature is not out there. She's right here in my arms."

 


End file.
